


Property of JM

by Beelsebutt



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beelsebutt/pseuds/Beelsebutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a double whiskey, everything is aces again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Property of JM

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: [Jolandina](http://jolandina.livejournal.com)  
> Original Story: [Jim Moriartyn omaisuutta](http://epakelpo.livejournal.com/138326.html)  
>  **Warnings: Blood & Bondage & Violence & Rough Dub-Con!** (Only in Jim's mind, but nevertheless...)
> 
> I happened to think about Jim, and this story just started to flow. Next thing I knew, there were already hundreds of words written. And because there is never too much of Jimlock, I translated the story also in English! I think I scared my British beta away by mentioning the warnings of this story, but fortunately Jolandina was able to help. We're both Finnish, though, so there might be some weird things in the text. Please, feel free to point them out for me! :)
> 
>  
> 
> **Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine, nor is Jim Moriarty. Too bad :(**

"I am downright." Jim throws the man against the wall, before following him with a steady pace. "Disappointed." The man folds, decorating the wall with bloody finger trails; like fresh graffiti. Jim crouches down besides the struggling man and whispers: "In you."

There's a mangled mass of flesh in the place where there used to be a face, and Jim grabs the grisly, blood soaked hair framing it, pounding the man's head against the concrete floor. The voice resonates straight to his spine. He hammers the head to the floor a second, third time, until there's no resistance.

"You prick."

The man lies still, annoyingly dead. Nevertheless, Jim sinks the head of his shiny shoe into the ribs that are covered by a black hoodie. The body doesn't flinch from the kick, not that Jim was expecting it to, but still it makes him feel better.

"Three fucking times better!"

Jim wipes his bloody hands in a handkerchief, before proceeding to the car that is waiting at the end of the alley. The plan is safe again, nothing has changed. Well, there's the process of finding a new underling ahead, but fortunately, they are easy to shop. There is always the door B, door C, door D...

 

After a double whiskey, everything is aces again. Jim slumps on the sofa, his limbs askew. Blood always makes him horny, and he fumbles open his trousers and shirt, before leaning his head on the soft back rest. His eyes close, and the fantasy begins.

Sherlock Holmes. Bound in a chair. The pretty pale cheekbones beaten purple. There's blood on the lower lip, and Jim wants to lick it off, before grabbing the dark curls tightly and cramming his tongue into Sherlock's mouth.

Jim grunts and rolls his thumb over the tip of his cock. He can actually taste Sherlock's iron seasoned flavour in his mouth as he hauls himself to a better position, pumping his half hard dick a couple of times.

"You liked it, didn't you?" Jim smiles against the trembling lips. Sherlock opens his eyes, unveiling the dilated pupils, and nods. "Now you'll want to give a head, right?" Sherlock hesitates, but nods again licking his lips. Jim stares at his so called Nemesis and grins as he sees the visible bulge under the fine wool trousers.

"At first, you'll suck. Then, I will fuck your brains out," Jim promises.

In the real world, Jim spits on his palm and opens his thighs wider. He made a promise by the pool, after seeing how protective Sherlock was over his whore, that one day the narrow lips would be his, and his only. The nimble fingers would grasp no one but him. And, most importantly, the virgin arse of Sherlock would belong to Jim forever.

He has to hurry, though, before dear Watson decides to play doctor with his flatmate.

Jim sneers. Concentration. He must focus. He swims back to his fantasy and positions himself over Sherlock. He tangles his fingers into the dark hair and shoves his prick right in front of Sherlock's glistening lips.

"Suck, slut, suck."

Imagination is Jim's gift. He can see when others cannot. He can even see further into the future than Sherlock Holmes. This so-called clever detective has no idea, not a single clue, that one day both his spirit and body will belong to Jim. One day, it will be Sherlock's tongue gliding under Jim's cock, not his own fingers. One glorious day, Jim won't be fucking his own hand, but Sherlock's tight hole.

One day, Sherlock Holmes will be property of Jim Moriarty.


End file.
